Miracle on Fleet Street
by thecat-and-thefiddle
Summary: Based on the Movie, not the play A small collection of instances where the Demon Barber has proved himself worthy of the gates of Heaven.


Miracle on Fleet Street

_Even demons can be angels_

He rose to his feet when the chimes on the door sang, heralding the arrival of a new customer. He moved silently, slowly, watching his blades out of the corner of his eye as he moved, the angle of the lightning making them seem to rouse themselves out of their slumber of boredom and stretch their silver muscles for another job.

He ran a finger along the edge of the smallest, pausing there as he gazed at the towering, thin Frenchman.

"Evening," the man greeted as he removed his hat respectfully, stepping aside to allow his busty lady companion (one could only assume she was his wife) and her bright red mountain of curls inside out of the rain. The barber nodded his reply, his eye catching the sight of a small child in a frilly yellow and white laced dress.

He watched her downcast face, inwardly smirking at the bounce of her sun-colored boucles as they hung in her face. Her shoulders were sagging, as if sore, as if weighted, as if she were crushed. The barber could not tear his eyes from her. Perhaps it was because of the way she carried her body, or the way she never looked up… or the way her pretty, tiny, well-manicured hands were gloved and tied together with a thin silk rope, the end of which rested firmly in the grip of her father.

"Hello," the barber called, resting one arm on his mechanical chair as he watched her, trying to smile in a way that wouldn't scare her. All that careful surveillance granted Mister Todd with a horrified look; however, he knew the terror in the stare was not something he invoked.

_Something is amiss…_

"So what can I do for you, good sir?" he asked the father, turning his smile to him instead of the leashed girl. "You seem clean shaven as it is. A touch up, perhaps? Get behind your ears? Tidy up that lower jaw line?"

"Ah, no, Monsieur. My daughter… she needs… her hair removed," the man replied in his thick, dripping accent.

Mister Todd's hackles shot up.

"Those beautiful locks? What for?"

The father shoved his daughter forward. The small feet in the (obviously) uncomfortable shoes stumbled forward, falling, catching herself on the chair and sniffling. Mister Todd moved his hand towards the sheathed and concealed straight-razor beneath his coat.

"She's having a surgery done, and they refuse to shave her hair for her."

"What surgery requires a bare head?" he asked as he helped the girl into the chair, then tore a piece of his shirt to tie around a bleeding cut on her finger. She sniffled a minuscule 'thank you' and sat, hunched, like a beaten dog.

"Eh… what is English word… Lobotomy?"

Mister Todd's gaze slowly turned from the shivering child to her father, hate and malice filling his blood and thrusting it, boiling, through his veins.

"Might I ask why?" Silence followed. Mister Todd moved towards his supply table and turned his back on the parents as to avoid their stern stares. "Forgive my onslaught of none-of-my-business questions… however, it improves my concentration and tendency for a smoother, cleaner, safer shave if I am more familiar and knowledgeable about my clientele."

"She is having… surgery for… eh, her thoughts."

"Thoughts?" Mister Todd selected his longest, thickest, dullest blade and moved to the back of the chair to begin coaxing it to life with the razor strap.

"She has begun to think, to question the male _autorité_… she cannot seem to grasp the concept- even under the influence of _le fouet- _that she, as a _fille_, she is inferior, stupid, and not allowed to think. We do not like her having ideas…"

Mister Todd removed his gaze from his razor and turned it to the father, a frown of disapproval on his face. "How horribly dreadful…"

"_Mais Oui._ It is incredibly embarrassing for a daughter to question another in public!"

How amusing, thought Mister Todd as he set the razor down to tie a cloth smock around the young one's neck, he thinks I'm talking about _her…_

With a frown he grasped a large chunk of the girl's hair. It had been glued and pasted to the rest of her hair- probably a way for the parents to try and make it seem like she had been shaven at least a little. He pulled a small comb from his pocket and gently straightened out what he could before retrieving a warm, wet rag to help remove the adhesive.

_How is it possible to even conceive treating such a delicious, pure being like this? What has this epitome of innocence done to deserve such an act of hatred and sexism?_

The comb must have hit a snag- the girl winced and made a small, barely audible noise. The barber glanced at her smooth, adorable baby-doll face. That mask and paint of fear and hopelessness did not suit her. He could tell by staring at her eyes that she meant no harm to anything or anyone, but she was full of life and full of imagination and that, he thought, wasn't her fault at all.

One careful hand massaged the abused young scalp as Mister Todd returned his comb to his pocket and moved behind the girl. His hands slid to her shoulders and he squeezed them tenderly. He felt her relax as if comforted and leaned down towards her ear, whispering, "Close your eyes, young child."

"Is this gonna hurt?" she asked him with a whimper that might have brought a kicked puppy to pity her.

"You won't feel a thing…" he assured her with a firm pat on the forearm.

Slowly, untrusting, she allowed her lids to close. Mister Todd removed his hands from her, watching her instantly revert back to her hunched state. Such fear…

Silently he retrieved the freshly sharpened blade on his way to the door of his loft. He shoved his hip against the table by the door over a few feet. No interruptions. Perfect.

His blade sang as she threw herself awake, giggling happily as he swung her around skillfully. Before the Frenchman and his busty woman knew what was happening, their blood was spilling in torrents from their throats. The woman was dead before she hit the ground. The man gurgled and choked on his dying breaths as he was dragged to the back of the mechanical chair. The Sweeney stomped powerfully on the hidden trap door with enough force to pop it open. He dropped the mother with little effort, kicking her head after her body down the shaft. A shove of the foot landed the father on his woman at the concrete ending of the twenty-six foot drop.

Quietly he moved the dresser away from the door. He paused to move the lid from a small jar and retrieve a paper-wrapped chocolate. He returned to the girl, kneeling to her height and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"You can open your eyes, now," he told her. He noted the surprise in her bright blue orbs with great amusement when her tiny hand touched her head where there was still hair. He winced softly as she glanced at the blood on his sleeve but his worry was quickly thwarted when the small truffle caught and kept her attention.

"May I have one?"

"You may have this one," he smiled at her and pressed it gently into her palm before standing and stripping her of the smock.

"Where are Mama and Papa?"

He paused, thinking. Then, as he continued to fold the smock and place it on the table by the windows, he replied, "They ran off to cancel your appointment."

"I heard a thud. Did Mama fall down the stairs again?" she asked with a giggle as she nibbled along the edge of the tiny confection.

Mister Todd smiled. "Yes. Quite the show. Come," he beckoned. She rose from the chair and tiptoed to him. She giggled as he lifted her against his shoulder so he could look into her eyes.

"I wouldn't expect Mama and Papa back any time soon if I were you. What I want you to do is go down stairs to Mrs. Lovett's bakery. Tell her you are hungry, and Mr. Todd told you to ask for a meal. You are hungry, aren't you? Good. Now, once you've dined, I want you to go and find your aunt or your uncle and stay with them. I want you to learn and grow up and become a fabulous thinker. I want you to think things that have never been thought of before. I want you to imagine things and create things. Learn to read and write a book. Be who you want to be. If anyone ever mentions anything about any sort of surgery or doctor visit or anything, I want you to get away. Run. Run as fast as you can back to Mr. Sweeney Todd. Understand?"

"Yes, sir, Mr. Todd!" She smiled, nodding. "Can I have another treat?"

"Help yourself," he nodded. He set her down and moved to clean the blood off the floor. Odd how she hadn't noticed it. Daintily, she selected two truffles and replaced the lid of the container before lifting her skirt to skitter out of the flat.

Mister Todd smiled as he watched her, whistling a small, happy tune and then beginning to dance with the mop.


End file.
